If God Doesn't Show

by R. Thomas Riley

  Travis leaned down and picked up the massive rifle, firing at the creature. The .50 caliber round took a noticeable chunk out of the creature’s abdomen.

  “He was already dead,” Travis muttered, as Archer whirled and pointed his weapon on him. He rested the rifle on his shoulder and dug in his pocket for a smoke. After lighting up, he squinted through the smoke. “I’m not the enemy.”

  The creature screamed as it tried to put its guts back inside its body. Travis took another drag on his cigarette and tossed it aside. He leveled the rifle on the creature, waited for a clear shot, then fired. The creature’s head became a red mist, and it slumped over Wells’ still form.

  Across the way, the woman and her children screamed. Archer started to run towards them, but came to a halt as the phone on his belt began to beep insistently. He glanced down at his side and stared dumbstruck at the phone.

  “You going to answer that?” Travis said as he took aim. Calmly, he began firing. The horde o f creatures chasing after the woman and her kids fell one by one. “Well, this is about to get real interesting. Holy shit.”

  About a dozen people shambled towards the runway’s fenced outer perimeter. The shadows passed through the fence with ease, but their hosts had some difficultly scaling the fence. Travis gasped.

  Archer looked up from his phone at Travis’s alarm. The people were obviously dead, and had been for quite some time he realized. Their clothes were tattered and dirt stained. Some of them were still dressed in their Sunday best, or burial clothes.

  Another thought struck Archer, deepening his dread: Katrina had left a lot of bodies in her wake.

  The phone nagged him to no end. It wasn’t going to stop. Archer fumbled it from his belt and flipped it open. He wanted to say something into the receiver, but words abandoned him. Rather, a choked sound scurried up his throat.

  “Daddy?” The voice on the other end sounded hesitant.

  “Casey?” he said. “Is that you?”

  “Daddy!”

  Just then, Thaddeus noticed Muldoon wasn’t firing any longer, and he followed the man’s gaze to the outer fence. A few of the dead had managed to navigate up the fence, and they were currently falling over the top, crashing to the ground. The way some of them were landing would’ve killed most people, but they struggled to their feet and continued shuffling towards them. The shadows in front of these people were more pronounced than the previous incarnations, he noticed.

  “Baby, is that you?” He jerked the phone back from his ear as a horrendous keening erupted.

  “Daddy, I miss you so,” a voice, not his daughter’s any longer, jeered. “Come and rescue me, Daddy. Just like last time, Daddy!” It disintegrated into maniacal laughter.

  “Casey! Where are you? I’m coming to get you, baby!”

  “I’m at Grandpa’s. Hurry. They’re going to get in.”

  The last words were in his daughter’s voice, and it turned his stomach cold. She sounded so small, so fragile, and so scared. Grandpa’s? There was no way she was in North Dakota. Impossible.

  “Are you going to save her this time, Thaddeus?” the other voice hissed. A voice he recognized from a year ago. “Or will you lose her again? You’d better hurry. She won’t be safe from me much longer. When I get her, oh, the things I’ll do to her!”

  The line went dead, and it took a few moments for Archer to realize he was listening to nothing.

  Air Force One

  As the door swung outward, Sam dreaded what might wait for them in the cockpit. A rush of relief escaped her lips, as nothing hideous was revealed when it swung fully open. The cockpit was deserted. She leaned down and quickly blew the residual ash from the seat and sat in the pilot’s chair, running her fingers over the yoke. She grimaced, as her butt was soaked once it settled in the seat. Peering down between her legs, she sucked in a breath. The pilot had somehow managed to cram his frame into the small recess beneath the controls, and he’d died horribly.

  Hurt squeezed into the co-pilot’s chair, awkwardly shoving his M4 between his legs. When he glanced over at her, Sam noted the concern on his face. As she became still, he fidgeted, showing his concern. “Everything OK?”

  “Just dandy.” Sam clenched her teeth, forcing herself to study the controls. There were so many buttons and gauges. She got dizzy just trying to take it all in.

  Wendell asked from the doorway, “We going to be able to get this puppy off the ground?” His appearance jolted Sam from her concentration.

  She offered a small, weak smile and nodded. “Sure thing. Just familiarizing myself with the controls.”

  Almost nothing looked familiar. What little she did recognize, like the fuel status (the gauge read full) and the hydraulics (all green), did nothing to comfort her. The controls were really quite simple, she knew, but now faced with them in all their glory, knowing and believing were in two vastly different ballparks. At least the engines were idling, so there was a God.

  “Sam, something’s headed in your direction. Get out of here. I repeat, get out of here!”

  Hurt leaned forward and peered out the windscreen. “You see that?”

  “Yep.” Sam pushed forward on what she thought was the fulcrum. The plane lurched and then held fast. The engines screamed, and the plane began to shudder, but they weren’t moving forward.

  “What’s wrong?” Wendell asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

  She pushed the lever farther forward. The engines were at full thrust now, and it felt like the plane was trying to rip itself apart. Sam pulled the lever back. As the engines powered down, the awful shuddering subsided.

  Something flashed across the tarmac and caught her attention. “Hand me those.”

  Hurt glanced down at the binoculars around his neck and looked at her quizzically.

  “Those.” Sam grasped the strap and yanked it roughly over his head. She brought them to her eyes and sighted in. “It’s Archer and some other guy. Where are the others? What the hell is that?”

  The men were running all out, a huge mob in hot pursuit. Something else appeared in the air. The thing swooped down, intent on the kill. Sam could barely make it out because its smoky form wasn’t concrete.

  The creature swiped at them, but the men hit the ground. After missing its prey, the creature soared back up into the sky, and Sam realized what it was. “Oh God.”

  “The reflection of Satan is in my eye,” Hurt said, his voice guttural.

  “Get out there,” Sam cried. “Give them cover or they’re as good as dead.”

  She heard Hurt jump from Air Force one and open fire. His shots ricocheted in her ears, crackling like thunder. She looked out of the cockpit and saw the hordes of dead falling at the hands of Hurt’s assail.

  “Hurry up, you idiots!” Sam heard Hurt yell.

  Archer, Travis and Hurt rushed into the plane. Hurt took his seat back beside Sam, and Archer slammed the plane’s hatch shut. “Let get out of here.”

  * * *

  “We’re still chalked,” Sam said.

  “What?” the president asked.

  “The chalks are still behind the wheels. Damn it. How could I have been so stupid? We’re not going anywhere until those chalks are removed.”

  “We’re not going to have time,” Hurt said as he got back out of his seat, pointing to the far side of the runway at more advancing crowds. They were everywhere. “Something tells me they’re not stopping by for a friendly visit.”

  A few seconds later, Sam heard Hurt firing from the entryway.

  “Mr. President,” Woodard said, as he passed the SAT phone over. “It’s Wayteck.”

  “Go ahead,” Wendell answered.

  “Sir, I dispatched a Blackhawk chopper from Moody about an hour ago. Should be there any time.”

  “Good decision. We’re dead in the water here. What’s the status?”

  “We attempted to move every essential out of Washington using COGCON alerts, but there was mass confusion
. The roads jammed quickly and…well…things happened. The tsunami just struck California…” Wayteck’s voice cracked, but he pressed on. “It was worse than we anticipated, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “It struck the entire west coast, as far inland as Sacramento and Seattle, down through Mexico and most of South America.”

  “Dear God.”

  “It gets worse…”

  “Go on.”

  “The Presidential line of succession is in jeopardy. The Speaker of the House and Secretaries of State and Treasury and the Attorney General didn’t make it out of Washington—”

  “Wayteck? Wayteck?” Wendell shouted, but no answer was forthcoming.

  “Sir,” Major Woodard said. “You’d better take a look at this.” He held out the laptop. Across the screen, red dots began appearing. They indicated positive nuclear strikes across the map. D.C. was one of those dots.

  “Major, launch ‘em,” Wendell ordered. He took a deep breath as Woodard turned the key that would start nuclear winter across the globe.

  Just outside, a Blackhawk roared across the runway, its heavy machine guns laying waste to the crowd to the north. A few passes and there was nothing left standing in the immediate vicinity.

  Wendell emerged from the aircraft with a cold void in the pit of his stomach. Any second now, nukes would begin launching. He caught Archer’s eye as the man raced up to the stairs.

  “It’s done,” Wendell called down. He didn’t need to elaborate any further.

  The captain emerged from the Blackhawk. “Sir! We need to get you out of here. There’s more of those things coming. The streets are packed with them!”

  Sam followed Wendell down the stairs. For a few seconds, the survivors just stood around and stared at each other, unsure of what to do next.

  Archer broke the silence. “Sam, I need you and the chopper.”

  “Thaddeus,” Wendell interrupted. “Secretary Carling is with you. We need to separate. Succession rests with us. Patricia, I need you to go with Archer and Ms.Velaska. Take the chopper to Outlook and find agent Palmer. He and the others will be expecting you.”

  Carling appeared less than thrilled, but at the same time the expression on her face was odd—somehow knowing and smug. Archer studied her momentarily then turned to the president.

  His stomach churned with stress. “Mr. President, with all due respect…you don’t mean—

  “

  “That’s exactly what I fucking mean,” Wendell snapped. “There is no more America, and if we hope to rise from this, our survival depends on one of us surviving.”

  With that, he motioned for Hurt and Woodard to follow him. He gave Carling a peck on the cheek and headed for the awaiting Blackhawk.

  Woodard placed a phone in Archer’s hand. “This will keep us in contact even through the fallout. Get to Montana as quickly as you can. Hell’s coming.”

  * * *

  With a heavy heart, President Wendell watched the other helicopter disappear in the opposite direction. He hoped they made it to Outlook in one piece.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The decisions made over the previous few minutes weighed heavily on his mind. He’d ordered the launch of nuclear weapons, and had become the second American President to do so. A dubious honor to be sure. What now? How would the country recover, and would he have the fortitude to make even more harsh decisions in the coming hours?

  His thoughts were interrupted as the SAT phone began to chirp. Woodard glanced at it and frowned. After the severed connection with Wayteck, they’d assumed Washington had been obliterated, and this incoming designation number was definitely not from that location. He looked to Wendell for guidance, and the man nodded his consent.

  “Might as well see who’s calling.” He gave a wry, tired smile.

  Woodrow keyed the speaker. “Major Darren Woodrow. Identify yourself.”

  “Major Woodrow. Is the president with you?”

  “Identify yourself,” Woodrow insisted.

  “Name’s Gibson Blount. I am an operative of Black Rock, sir. I have urgent news for the president. Is he still alive? Is he with you?”

  “Black Rock?” Woodrow’s eyes widened. “How on Earth did you get this number? Only a few people left alive would have this—”

  “I have inside connections. Look, I don’t have time to explain. People are dying. Goddamnit, get me the president.

  “What’s all the yelling? Woodrow, just give me the phone. I’ll get to the bottom of it.” Wendell cleared his throat. “Who is this? Blount? The name is somewhat familiar, but I don’t know how…what the hell is going on?”

  “I apologize Mr. President. I’m a special agent with certain intel at my disposal. I can explain it to you when the planet isn’t about to go to hell. I know things are about to get real ugly.”

  The president went silent, recognizing Blount knew much more than he should. If this special agent was on his side, he wanted to keep it that way. It was best to play along. “Get to the point, Agent Blount.”

  “First off, sir, are you safe? Out of the thick of it?”

  “Well, we made it out of New Orleans in one piece, and we’re currently airborne. It’s good to know someone out there gives a damn about my well being.” The president let out a nervous chuckle.

  “Of course, Mr. President. How much have you been briefed on Black Rock?”

  “I know the highlights.”

  There was a pause as Blount decided how to proceed. He sighed and soldiered on. “That will have to do. A couple of girls, sisters if you will, located your number for me.”

  The president had an inkling of what he meant, but really just humored him so he could hear more. The more he could learn in order to limit his chances of dying, the better.

  “Go on.”

  “Here’s the situation: We have landed on the island and have encountered stiff psychic resistance. There is definitely something here, sir. It’s bad, and it’s a mean son of a bitch…I apologize for the profanity, but I need you to understand the gravity of this situation.”

  “No apology necessary, Mr. Blount. It’s a nightmare out this way as well.”

  “This island appears to be the source of the shadow creatures. They are hot and heavy here. We’ve suffered casualties. Whatever this is, it’s definitely of supernatural origin.”

  Hearing Blount use terms like psychic and supernatural origin would have been difficult to digest under normal circumstances, but after all he’d witnessed so far, Wendell was definitely ripe to accept anything. He’d been briefed on Black Rock when he took office, but he’d dismissed the program as NSA/CIA pipe dreams when he’d read over the psychic nature of Black Rock’s missions.

  Wendell came to the quick realization that Black Rock was designed to be nearly impossible for any sitting President to dismantle or discontinue. Black Rock’s activities were also highly compartmentalized, to provide him with plausible deniability. He could probably have found out more than he was briefed on, but he had been faced with many more pressing issues than chasing ghosts through a labyrinth bureaucracy.

  “This is real, isn’t it?” Wendell said.

  “Excuse me?” Blount sounded confused.

  “What you do, all that you see—it’s all real, isn’t it?”

  “You better believe it. I apologize for making you play catch up, but we are pressed for time. My team geologist has informed me that much of the flora on this island should be extinct, and that tells me we are dealing with something very old. In my experience, the older something is, the more powerful and pissed off it tends to be.”

  “Mr. Blount. In your honest opinion, do we have a chance?”

  “There’s always a chance, sir.”

  “Blount…” Wendell stopped to clear the lump in his throat.

  “Yes?” Blount could tell by the change in the president’s tone what the man was about to say.

  “North Korea is launching. All of us are.”

  “Where?”

/>   “The island.”

  Part II

  Gibson Blount

  “At any moment several millions of human beings may be smitten with a new madness, and then we shall have another world war or devastating revolution. Instead of being at the mercy of wild beasts, earthquakes, landslides, and inundations, modern man is battered by the elemental forces of his own psyche.”

  —Carl Gustav Jung

  Chapter One

  Somewhere Over the Pacific Ocean

  Deep in thought, Gibson Blount looked out the Blackhawk’s bay door. The ocean below glistened in the sunlight, but its beauty was lost on him. He shifted in his seat and glanced at his team. They’d been handpicked for this mission. Each possessed a skill set that would likely come in handy in the next few hours. Exactly what was to come, he wasn’t sure. That was the question. Blount had seen much over his lifetimes. The things he knew, the things he’d seen, would make the average citizen run screaming for the hills.

  Yet, despite everything he’d seen, everything he’d fought, this was something new. He knew much about the Old Ones, but had never come across any evidence they’d really existed until now. Monsters went by many names. It was man’s nature to attempt to name the unknown. The problem was, with so many names floating around out there for so many different gods, he was never really sure which one he was dealing with.

  Christianity, and a host of other religions, stated there was only one God, but Blount knew better. It was all right there in the text, if only someone would read it. Why else would God command to have no other Gods before Him, if He were the only God? Blount had met a few of these gods over the course of his lifetimes, and he’d come to the conclusion that the majority of them were ill tempered and sorely misbehaved. So it stood to reason that if God, as in the ‘Bible God,’ existed, He was one pissed off entity.